Gospel Story Finder

One of the nursing students who went to Australia for Study Abroad wrote in her final paper about an uncomfortable experience she had that helped her to gain a more Christlike perspective. She prefaced her story by saying she had been distressed by a relative’s rather crude and derogatory remark about the work she would be doing for the rest of her life because she had chosen to be a nurse. With her permission and in her own words, Jenn Jackson said:

One of the most beautiful moments I had on this trip was watching Amanda—one of the nurses at Best of Care—talk to, touch, and treat a patient. The patient was one who many of the caregivers refused to take on their caseloads because his house was filthy, he owned seven or eight cats, and he was completely unhygienic. There was a horrible odor exuding from who knows where. Not only that, sometimes he was known as being grouchy and critical. With all that being known to Amanda, she took us to his home and introduced us to him. She treated him with the utmost respect, talked to him about his life and his family, sat on his cat-fur–lined sofa, and touched his hand. She then began teaching us about some of the problems he had, and at one point she took off his socks with her bare hands. His legs were disgusting and lined with dead skin. He had gout in his toes and fungus on his nails. I couldn’t believe it when she held his foot and touched him without being repulsed. . . .

After telling us some things about his feet and legs, she gently put his dirty sock back on, patted his shoulder, wished him a good day, and took us home. As I thought about that experience, I thought about the Savior and how He touched the lepers on their rotten skin, washed the dirty feet of the twelve apostles, and went places that were not always the nicest places in town. The Savior went to people’s homes regardless of how rich or poor they were. He touched them, without gloves, regardless of how disgusting they were. He cleansed them regardless of how dirty they were.

Now when I think about the statement made by my relative, I don’t get frustrated. It is still a completely simplified statement of what I will be doing with the rest of my life, but I realize now that it may not be all that inaccurate. I will be serving my brothers and sisters, Heavenly Father’s children, and will be doing for them what they cannot do for themselves, just like the Savior. If the King of Kings and Lord of Lords can humble Himself enough to touch and cleanse the lowest of the low, then I can do it too. I can be a tool in His hands by touching, cleansing, and healing, and there is no disgrace in being a tool in the hand of the greatest Healer of all.

When I first started coming to volunteer at the PCC, I had the idea it would be wonderful to see a sunrise from the beach. But when I parted the drapes and saw clouds, I decided to wait for another day. After a few trips I made an interesting link. When the sky is cloudless, it’s actually hard to see a sunrise. But on cloudy days, the rising sun transforms those dark, threatening shapes in the sky. First a peach-colored wash silhouettes the emerging ink spots. Then gold begins to gild their dark edges. Suddenly, they become billowing volumes of pink, purple, sapphire, orange, and yellow. Brilliant shafts of light break through the atmospheric strife, and the whole sky is resplendent and alive. Here’s what I’m talking about, taken on my phone two blocks away, just a month ago: Obviously, it is necessary for me to be on time for this first class of the day, and I try to come ready to be taught by the teacher with a very still, small voice. The link I’ve made is priceless to me: We are blessed to witness the Son of God in our lives because “dark clouds of trouble [do] hang o’er us.”30
As we experience affliction, hardship, and even persecution, His light not only becomes more visible, but more beautiful. And we are filled with gratitude for the cloudy days and even the treacherous storms of life.

When I was seven years old, my mom and dad befriended a less-active family in our ward that consisted of a single mother and her two sons. My older brother, John, and I were the same ages as the two boys, Robin and Shannon, so it seemed appropriate that we extend a hand of fellowship.
The family didn’t own a car, so my father offered to pick them up at their home in a nearby city and give them rides to and from church. I remember the days Dad summoned my brother and me to accompany him to pick them up. I begrudged it at the time, but despite my groaning, Dad continued to give them rides until they were actively attending church and had their own car. Robin and Shannon were soon baptized and confirmed, and their mom began participating in Relief Society. I didn’t realize at the time the positive repercussions that would come from this act of service.
A few months before I began eighth grade, my dad passed away. To compound my grief, I was insecure about my physical appearance and lack of friends. I began to succumb to feelings of despair, and I spent my lunch hours walking to my house and back because I couldn’t bear sitting alone.
That same year, the family we had befriended moved into our school district, and Shannon began attending my school. We became immediate friends. I felt accepted, and I was no longer so sad. Knowing that someone enjoyed being my friend boosted my confidence and self-worth. I no longer had to spend my lunch hour by myself.
Our friendship deepened during high school. When our older brothers left for college and missions, Shannon and I became surrogate brothers. We received our Eagle Scout Awards at the same court of honor, went to the same university, left on missions during the same summer, and became roommates afterward. We were both married in the Salt Lake Temple to wonderful women, and our first children were born within three months of each other.
One evening shortly before Shannon’s wedding, we began talking about our childhood. I told him how he had helped me overcome my insecurities and cope with the death of my father. It was his friendship, I added, that had helped me turn my life around. Shannon then told me that if my dad had not given his family rides to church, he would not have attended church, served a mission, and been sealed in the temple.
The Spirit touched me strongly during that conversation as I realized the blessings that a simple ride to church had on our lives. As I reflected on Shannon’s friendship, I realized that my father not only helped save Shannon’s family, but he also prepared a friend who helped save his own son.

As I sat on a chartered bus in front of the Chicago Illinois Temple, the fact that my family and I were about to move across the country finally hit home. Realizing that this was the last time I’d come to this temple to do baptisms for the dead with our stake youth did more to make reality sink in than the “For Sale” sign at my house, all the piles of packing boxes, and even my empty closet.
As I looked out the bus window at the beautiful building, I thought to myself, This is the last time I can come here like this with these people, hear their testimonies, and feel this kind of spirit. I am leaving for real.
Just as I was thinking this, a comforting thought came clearly to my mind: The Spirit is the same wherever you go. Take what you feel here and share it where you are going. At that point, I knew that the gospel really is the same wherever you go, that the same Heavenly Father is always there, and that He will help us get through everything.
Do not be afraid of moving. It’s not the end of the world to leave friends and places behind. I have learned that. No matter where you go, you can always have the comfort the gospel can bring into your life. It really is the same gospel no matter what place in the world you are in. The packaging might be a little different, but the contents are always wonderfully the same.

Several years ago I installed a stake president in England. In another calling, he is here in the audience today. He had an unusual sense of direction. He was like a mariner with a sextant who took his bearings from the stars. I met with him each time he came to conference and was impressed that he kept himself and his stake on course.

Fortunately for me, when it was time for his release, I was assigned to reorganize the stake. It was then that I discovered what that sextant was and how he adjusted it to check his position and get a bearing for himself and for his members.

He accepted his release, and said, “I was happy to accept the call to serve as stake president, and I am equally happy to accept my release. I did not serve just because I was under call. I served because I am under covenant. And I can keep my covenants quite as well as a home teacher as I can serving as stake president.”

In 1869 my great-great-grandfather Edwin S. Graham wrote a letter to his children prior to traveling to Texas from Iowa. Having a strong Christian faith and knowing that he might not live to see them again, he gave them what could have been called his last instruction. He wrote:

“In the event . . . that I should not live to return to you, . . . I know that in [your] mother [you] will have all [the] affection and devotion that [you] could possibly have, as long as she might live. . . . Robby, you and Lizzie are so young that . . . [should you] forever be bereft of your father’s care, advice and instructions, . . . live in the fear of God, your Redeemer. Never wrong in any way your fellow man. In morals be ever particularly careful, prudent, [and] discreet. . . . Never lie. Never make a harsh promise. Master, always master, never let passion master you. . . .

In all things be true to yourselves and to others, with God’s blessing and protection. [May He] ever guide and direct you.”

Christmas dawned on a day as murky as my mood. A dense fog had crept into the Italian city where my husband’s military assignment had taken us. My two daughters were not very excited about the few gifts they had received. Their thoughts, like mine, were with their father, who was in a military hospital in Germany.
“It doesn’t seem like Christmas without Daddy here,” eight-year-old Diana commented. I nodded, thinking about all the seasonal cheer we were missing—decorations, family parties, holiday feasts.
“Well, at least some of us are together,” said 17-year-old Athena quietly.
When my husband called from the hospital in Germany, I talked to him briefly and then handed the phone to Diana. To my surprise, she refused to speak to him, even though she hadn’t seen or talked to him in weeks. Confused by her reaction, I ran the events of the past month through my mind.
Some weeks earlier my husband, Ed, began complaining of pain in his left forearm. In no time it swelled and became stiff. The doctors hospitalized him and gave him antibiotics intravenously. But his hand became useless.
I arranged for our oldest son to stay with his grandmother for Christmas instead of coming home from college. Our three other children tried to help me get ready for Christmas, but the spirit of the season could not penetrate my anxiety.
One night was especially bad. I couldn’t sleep, so at 3:30 A.M. I called the hospital. The nurse said Ed was in such pain he was pacing the floor. Suddenly I knew he needed a priesthood blessing. Since the hour was so early, I hesitated to call our home teacher, Bob DeWitt. But Bob arrived on his own at about 5:00 A.M. He called another priesthood holder and hurried to the hospital. Bob felt prompted to promise Ed he would eventually regain the full use of his hand.
Moments after the blessing, a group of doctors conferred around Ed’s bed. They couldn’t explain what was causing the damage to his arm. Although in pain, Ed commented that it was too bad the X ray couldn’t show more than just the bone in his arm; it would help if they could see the tissue as well. Ed’s words startled the doctors, and they decided to use an ultrasound machine to look at his arm in a manner not commonly used. The procedure was later written up in medical journals.
Using the ultrasound in this new way, they located a large pocket of infection deep within Ed’s forearm. They operated immediately.
“It’s lucky we located the abscess when we did,” the surgeon explained to me later. “Even a few more hours could have cost Ed the use of his arm completely. As it is, I doubt he will ever be able to use his fingers again.”
The doctors transferred Ed to a large hospital in Germany, and I accompanied him while friends took care of our children. Ed’s condition became worse; the bone became infected, and antibiotics were unexplainably ineffective.
Days went by in a blur as Ed underwent multiple surgeries. Ed insisted I fly home to be with the children for Christmas.
So here it was Christmas morning. I held my youngest daughter close, still not sure why she had refused to speak with her father. Finally she hesitantly took the phone, and within seconds, her face was wreathed in a smile.
“I thought Daddy was dying,” she explained later. “He was so sick when he left.”
Holding both daughters tightly, I smiled through my tears. Faintly, through the fog, the tolling of Christmas bells reached us. I reflected on the gift we commemorate each Christmas—our Savior, who redeemed us from eternal death and made eternal families possible. I realized that through the Lord’s Atonement and the ordinances of the temple, we could be together forever.
Ed spent nine months in hospitals—and three long, difficult years passed before he recovered completely. But we never questioned that his priesthood blessing would be fulfilled or that our greatest blessings came through the Lord Jesus Christ.
As I listened to the bells that Christmas morning in Italy, I finally welcomed Christmas into my heart.

Her family worked hard and began to prosper, adding three more children. They were faithful and active in the Church. Then, unexpectedly, her husband suffered a stroke and died, compelling her to work long hours at multiple jobs for many years to provide for her five children.
Some people in her family and neighborhood criticized her. They blamed her troubles on her decision to join a Christian church. Undeterred by profound tragedy and harsh criticism, she held on to her faith in Jesus Christ, determined to press forward, trusting that God knew her and that brighter days were ahead.

Another thing his uncle had told him that he believed was that by studying and doing the good things taught in the Book of Mormon, a person could get closer to God than by any other means, short of personal prayer or dying. Elias had given the boy a copy of the book, one that Elias had been presented as a young missionary while living in Nauvoo. The book had helped to ease Simon’s lingering sorrow over his parents’ deaths, and he had read it faithfully, pondered its contents, and prayed about its truthfulness.
One day when Simon had emerged from his secret place of prayer, he told his uncle that he experienced “a feeling that was as warm as the down comforter Mother used to wrap around me on cold winter nights.” He said that he knew the Book of Mormon was true and that he would one day be reunited with his parents in the world to come.
“Now that you know the truth,” Elias had counseled him, “you have a duty to Heavenly Father and to yourself to live it. It won’t always be easy to stand firm against the opposition that may come. But let the winds of adversity blow you forward, never down.”

Seven-year-old Joseph has grown up around water. Or rather he has grown up with water all around him—surrounded by the cold waters of Lake Titicaca in Peru. That’s what happens when you live on a small island made of floating reeds.
Joseph and his family are part of the Uros people, who have built and lived on floating islands on Lake Titicaca for hundreds of years. They fish in the lake. They bathe in the lake. They row across the lake to get from island to island.
You might think that Joseph, being so used to the water, wouldn’t be nervous about standing in a baptismal font in a few months to be baptized. But he feels the same way many other children feel.
“I’m excited,” he says. “But I’m worried about going under the water.”
With water all around them, Uros children are taught to be careful with water. So after Joseph told his parents about his worries, the family talked about baptism during family home evening, and Joseph and his father practiced what to do.
“My father will baptize me,” Joseph says. “He helped me to not be so afraid.”
Now Joseph is diligently preparing for his baptism. He is trying especially hard to pay attention during Primary and to learn the Articles of Faith. He knows that will help him now and in the future.
“I’m going on a mission,” he says. “Like Nephi said, I will go and do the things the Lord commands” (see 1 Nephi 3:7).

Several years ago, while on vacation, I wanted to go kayaking for the first time. I rented a kayak, and full of enthusiasm, I launched into the sea.
After a few minutes, a wave overturned the kayak. With a great deal of effort, holding the paddle in one hand and the kayak in the other, I was able to regain my footing.
I tried again to paddle my kayak, but just a few minutes later, the kayak tipped over again. I stubbornly kept on trying, to no avail, until someone who understood kayaking told me that there must be a crack in the shell and the kayak must have filled up with water, making it unstable and impossible to control. I dragged the kayak to the shore and removed the plug, and sure enough, out came a large amount of water.
I think that at times we move through life with sins that, like the leak in my kayak, impede our spiritual progress.
If we persist in our sins, we forget the covenants we have made with the Lord, even though we keep capsizing because of the imbalance that those sins create in our lives.
Like the cracks in my kayak, the cracks in our lives need to be dealt with. Some sins will require more efforts than others to repent of.

One family meets around a specially prepared table every Sunday morning for Sunday devotional. “Either my husband or I introduce a theme for that Sunday,” the mother reports. “For instance, once our theme was the Word of Wisdom. The table display included a bowl of fresh fruit, a bottle of home-canned tomatoes, and some dried wheat. For other themes we sing songs, read stories and scriptures, and point out examples of the theme throughout the day.

“When we meet again by the table in the evening, the children report on what they have learned about the theme. And they’re so excited about Sundays that they keep our Sunday theme suggestion box full of ideas for themes!”

Christmas was still a few weeks away, but Truman and his family had already put up the Christmas tree. He was excited as he thought about the presents he hoped to see under the tree on Christmas morning.
A few days later Truman walked into the living room and saw there was one small box under the tree. It was wrapped in red paper and tied with a green bow.
Our first present! Who sent it? Was it Grandma?
No.
Is it from one of my cousins?
No.
Truman was confused.
Well, then who sent it?
You’ll have to wait and see. All we can say is that it is a very special gift.
As days passed, more presents appeared under the tree, but Truman kept wondering about that first red present with the green bow. Where did it come from?
On Christmas morning, Truman raced to wake up his brothers and parents.
Wake up! It’s Christmas!
After arriving at the tree, Truman was excited to see the presents underneath it.
Truman, you may open the small box with the red paper and green bow.
Truman was excited to finally see what was inside.
Truman removed the lid and found a few small items. He pulled them out one at a time—a picture of Jesus Christ, a poem about Jesus’s birth, and a star. Truman showed everyone the picture, and Dad read the poem.
I put the box under the tree so we could remember the real reason we celebrate Christmas.
Truman was happy to remember Jesus.
Dad, you put the box under the tree, but now I know who really gave us this gift.
Who?
Heavenly Father.

Hello! dear brothers and sisters.
I’m very grateful that I have this Church and gospel in my life. Because of this Church, I was able to attend the YSA conference in Hyderabad. I learned so many things that help me to become self-reliant.
Now I’m working in a company that pays me a good salary. This happened because of the conference. I gave my interview without fear, I explained about myself in 30 seconds. I followed the “no preaching” concept and I was selected. Because of the conference, lots of people became my good friends, and now I’m also planning to go on mission. A mission is the place where you can learn so many things and I can become self-reliant. So many things are there which I can’t explain in words, but I’m glad that I was part of this conference. Those precious memories will stay forever.

The Smith family and others in their area were given opportunities to heft the ancient record and feel its individual plates at the Smith family home in Manchester Township, New York. Joseph’s younger brother William, age 16 in 1827, had a vivid memory of witnessing the plates, which he later shared in a sermon: “When the plates were brought in they were wrapped up in a tow frock. My father then put them into a pillow case. Father said, ‘What, Joseph, can we not see them?’ [Joseph responded,] ‘No. … I was forbidden to show them until they are translated, but you can feel them.’ We handled them and could tell what they were. … Could tell whether they were round or square. Could raise the leaves this way (raising a few leaves of the Bible before him). One could easily tell that they were not a stone, hewn out to deceive, or even a block of wood.”1

On another occasion, William provided further information: “I could tell they were plates of some kind and that they were fastened together by rings running through the back.”2 He also wrote that in addition to feeling the individual plates and rings, he had hefted the entire artifact: “I was permitted to lift them. … They weighed about 60 pounds according to the best of my judgment.”3 Joseph’s younger sister Katherine, age 14, also got to hold the plates the day Joseph brought them home. She “rippled her fingers up the edge of the plates and felt that they were separate metal plates and heard the tinkle of sound that they made.”4

I can remember when my older brother had just such a decision to make. He was majoring in art at a university and showing lots of promise. He was just beginning to feel a breakthrough in the development of his talent when the bishop asked him to set it aside and go on a mission. He struggled with the decision for days. Two years away from pursuing the skills he had worked so hard to develop would set him back who knows how much. And he most certainly would have to give up the scholarship he needed to continue school.

As a family and individually, we prayed he would make the right decision. He did. The call was to serve in Sweden, and though he was pleased to be able to serve in the land of his parents’ birth, I’m sure he wondered, even as he entered the mission home, what this would mean to his skill as an artist. He found it strange that he should be the only Swedish missionary in the mission home. (These were the days before the Mission Training Center in Provo.) He traveled to Sweden alone. At the same time his mission president was concerned that he had a new elder coming and had no companion for him. Why hadn’t they sent two? As he picked up my brother at the airport and began the journey by car to the mission home, the discussion turned to the big zone conference being planned. The mission president enthusiastically described how many nonmembers would be touched by the many activities and large impressive illustrations of the Book of Mormon they intended to display, if they could only find someone who could … Suddenly he looked at his new elder with a strange expression. “Elder Rosine, do you have any artistic ability by any chance?” When my brother revealed his background and the struggle it had been for him to cut off his development, the president got tears in his eyes and said simply, “I understand it all now. You are an answer to our prayers.”

Elder Rosine spent the first few months of his mission doing large oil paintings of scenes from the Book of Mormon. His letters home glowed with enthusiasm for the work he was doing, and he humbly admitted that the beautiful paintings he was producing were not his but the Lord’s, for he had never before painted so well.

Bishop Keith B. McMullin (above right), Second Counselor in the Presiding Bishopric:I remember my first home teaching assignment was with a brother from Scandinavia who spoke broken English. He called me on the phone, and I tried hard to understand what he was saying. He invited me to come to his home. He was an older man, a very fine Latter-day Saint, and my senior companion. He invited me in and said in a heavy accent, “I think we should say a prayer.” We knelt down and had a prayer. At that time in my home, our family prayers were reserved for major occasions—they weren’t an everyday occurrence. My home teaching companion, however, placed prayer into a much different category for me. I thought to myself, “Home teaching is really important, and prayer is an important part of home teaching.” And of course I learned what a wonderful, precious experience it is.

One summer morning in 1856, 16-year-old Janetta McBride started walking from Iowa to the Salt Lake Valley.
Her journey had begun months earlier when she left England with her family and sailed across the Atlantic Ocean. Once in the United States, they continued by rail to Iowa City, Iowa, where a westbound railroad line ended.
In Iowa City Janetta’s family joined the Latter-day Saints as they gathered their strength and supplies for the final part of the journey—a 1,300-mile (2,090-km) walk with handcarts. Janetta McBride was assigned to the Martin handcart company, one of seven companies that left Iowa City between 1856 and 1857.
Now 150 years later, the date is June 9, 2006. One more handcart company is leaving Iowa City.
This time the company is made up of about 70 young men and young women from the Iowa City Iowa Stake. Dressed in pioneer clothing, with their handcarts full of supplies, these youth are gathered at the Mormon Handcart Park just outside of Iowa City—the same place from which the first handcart company left exactly 150 years earlier on June 9, 1856. Looking west, they can’t help but think of the original pioneers who stood here so long ago.
Kameron Hansen of the Iowa City First Ward thinks of his fourth great-grandmother, Janetta McBride. Kameron, 14, is almost the same age Janetta was when she started walking to Zion.
“I like to think how happy she would be to see me doing this,” says Kameron. “I hope she is proud that her family is still faithful in the Church.” Kameron knows his journey will be much shorter and easier than Janetta’s, but he still feels grateful for this chance to remember and honor his ancestors.
Anna Shaner of the Fairfield Branch is also grateful to honor the pioneers. She is amazed they walked into the frontier not knowing whether they would live through the experience. Anna gains a lot of strength from the people who, as she puts it, “had faith in what they were supposed to do and the courage to do it.”
This trek is a great opportunity for all the Iowa City youth to honor their ancestors. Whether they have handcart pioneers in their family line or not, the youth are members of the Church, so the handcart pioneers are their spiritual ancestors.
Today Iowa City, Iowa, is in the heart of the midwestern United States, but 150 years ago it was on the frontier—as far west as the train could take you. Most of the early converts who camped outside Iowa City in 1856 were emigrants from Europe. They had already traveled far and had little money to buy wagons and supplies. The people in Iowa City were tolerant of the Latter-day Saints, and pioneer journals recount the Iowans’ acts of kindness.
When President Brigham Young announced handcart travel as a cheaper and faster option for traveling to Zion, these Saints were eager to try it. The first handcart company left Iowa City on June 9, 1856.
Most handcart companies made the exhausting journey safely to the Salt Lake Valley, but it was more difficult for Janetta McBride’s group, the Martin company, and the Willie company. Both companies were caught in early snowstorms, and more than 200 people died. Their journeys required a great sacrifice, which was possible to endure only through faith in Heavenly Father and in His plan. This same faith motivated all the handcart companies that pushed and pulled their way to Zion.
In 2006 the handcart trek was part of a sesquicentennial celebration to honor this faith. Members of the Iowa City stake hosted events such as an academic symposium, a pioneer festival, and an interfaith devotional. These events honored not only the handcart pioneers but also the Iowans who helped them.
After a long day of trekking through the hills of Iowa, the youth now have a moment to reflect on their experience. Emma Pauley rereads Ether 12, a chapter on faith that she remembers learning about in seminary.
“I don’t know if I could have walked the whole way to Utah,” says Emma, “but the pioneers were able to do it, and I know that it was because of their faith. All great things are done by faith.”
The faith of the handcart pioneers enabled them to respond to President Young’s call to gather to the Salt Lake Valley. Their example makes it easier for the Iowa City youth to follow the counsel of the prophet today.
One way young men like Kameron Hansen can follow the prophet is by completing the Duty to God program. As he explains, “When I think of the pioneers and their sacrifice, it makes me want to finish my requirements so I can follow the prophet too.”
Following the prophet is important to these youth, and they look forward to seeing him the following Sunday at a commemorative fireside. The chance to hear the voice of a prophet will be the highlight of the celebration.
The early pioneers must have felt this same excitement as they walked to the Salt Lake Valley, knowing that with every step they were closer to their leader and hearing his voice.
“It is like a treasure waiting for me at the end,” says Skylar Hansen of the Iowa City First Ward.
Having finished their trek, the Iowa City youth are now getting closer to their treasure, but they are not there yet. The next day is Saturday, and there is a lot of work to do.
During 2006 members of the Iowa City Iowa Stake kept busy serving those in need throughout the area. It was the members’ way of saying thank you to a community that gave assistance to those early Saints.
Today the youth got their chance to serve. Although 6:30 a.m. felt early, Marc Humbert of the Iowa City First Ward said the trek the day before actually made it easier for him to get up and start serving. “Going on the trek helped me remember what was important,” he said, “and it was easy to serve.”
Marc was not the only one eager to serve. Despite the pouring rain, excitement was visible as the youth took turns visiting rest homes, cleaning police cars, stocking food shelves at local shelters, and cleaning up a park.
Giving this service was the least they could do to thank a city that helped the early Saints.
After walking all day Friday and giving service on Saturday, the youth are happy it is Sunday—time to listen to the prophet in person. Now seated with their families at the commemorative fireside, the young men and young women feel grateful for their new understanding of the handcart experience. The words of President Gordon B. Hinckley inspire them to continue the legacy of faith left by the handcart pioneers. He tells them, “We must ever look back to those who paid so terrible a price in laying the foundations of this great latter-day work.”
The pioneers who left Iowa City in 1856 would have rejoiced to hear about the modern pioneers living in the Iowa City stake. Perhaps they would be inspired by the courage of today’s youth who strive to live the gospel in such a confusing world.
Anna Shaner, for one, works hard to be a righteous example to her friends and family. Her faith gives her the strength she needs to stay the course. She says, “The experience of the pioneers means a lot to me because they did it for me. It is my history.”

Another story of a different kind of courage is told of Ruth Campkin Randall, a tiny mother who had spent enough time on the frontier to become accustomed to its risks. As a safeguard from marauding enemies around Pine, Arizona, where she lived, a stockade was built. When an Indian or other raid was reported, all the residents were to get into this enclosure for protection. This occurred frequently enough that Ruth got tired of it. Finally, when a call came for all to go to the fort, Ruth said, “No, I have been dragged from pillar to post and from the post to hell, and I am not going to the fort. I’m staying right here.”11 Others soon decided she was right; there was no longer any point in running to the fort every time some Indians were headed in their direction.

On 26 January 1880, everything was ready.
Elizabeth M. Decker wrote of the first wagons to go down through “the Hole”: “Coming down the hole in the rock to get to the river … is almost strait down, the cliffs on each side are five hundred ft. [about 155 meters] high and there is just room enough for a wagon to go down. It nearly scared me to death. The first wagon I saw go down they put the brake on and … [chained the rear wheels together so they slid as a unit instead of rolled] and had a big rope fastened to the wagon and about ten men holding back on it and they went down like they would smash everything. I’ll never forget that day.”